


The Total Agony of Being in Love

by xslytherclawx



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Snark, Texting, The Great Turkey Calamity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xslytherclawx/pseuds/xslytherclawx
Summary: Why Henry never replies to Alex's selfies from bed, even though they are hilarious.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 101
Kudos: 979
Collections: Yuletide 2019, xslytherclawx’s events collection





	The Total Agony of Being in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ljparis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ljparis/gifts).



> Alex wondering why Henry doesn't respond to his "hilarious" selfies from bed is one of my favorite parts, which is saying a lot considering it comes up during the Great Turkey Calamity.

Sometimes, Henry thinks he’d have rather Alex continued to hate him.

He doesn’t  _ really _ want that, of course. But at least then he knew where he stood: Alex hated him, and there was nothing Henry or anyone else could do to change it. He could be polite and cordial and Alex might insult him, or he might just ignore him, and Henry could focus on things that  _ weren’t _ how unbelievably bloody gorgeous and clever and  _ vibrant _ he was.

But now…

Now they’ve become friends. Sort of.

And for the most part, it’s so much better than Henry had ever allowed himself to anticipate. Alex – the real Alex – is crass and obnoxious and annoying and hilarious and ambitious and sexy and messy and Henry is so very gay and so hopelessly in love.

He can talk to Alex about anything and everything. For someone who never shuts the fuck up, Alex is surprisingly easy to talk to.

Granted, it’s even easier over text. He imagines it might be more difficult face-to-face, now that their (Alex’s) antipathy has impossibly softened into  _ friendship – _ or something resembling it – but he hasn’t had to worry too much about that so far.

The Atlantic Ocean provides a safe enough distance for Henry.

As if the memory of Alex in the flesh – at night in his pyjamas and glasses, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice and his laugh – isn’t enough to drive him mad.

At first, he’s careful.

He knows how easily this can go wrong, so he takes a while to text Alex the first time – as long as he can possibly wait.

He doesn’t text Alex back straightaway.

He doesn’t even tell Alex he’s gay. Not outright.

It’s not as if he tries to tell Alex he  _ isn’t _ gay, nor does he pretend to  _ not _ be in love with him. He never claims to be straight, or even bi. He doesn’t backtrack with any sort of no homo when things get perhaps a bit too flirty.

But he’s careful not to say it outright.

Even though he knows Alex has signed an NDA that was  _ very _ carefully worded to include such information. Alex may be an insufferable arsehole who seems pathologically incapable of shutting up, but he knows better than to violate an NDA.

Henry knows that.

It’s not Alex violating the NDA he’s worried about.

It’s also not that he thinks Alex is homophobic. While he’s fairly certain that Alex is genuinely interested in women, and he knows better than to read too much into Alex’s flirting, he knows that Alex isn’t homophobic. He’s said that offhand that his best friend (and ex-girlfriend) Nora is bisexual. He’s complained at length about homophobic politicians (both in America and outside), and corporations donating to anti-LGBT lobbies.

But Henry’s just managed to sort of befriend him. He doesn’t want to risk anything.

They start sending each other selfies, and the first time Alex sends one, Henry is fairly certain his little gay heart will burst. He is so far past the point of no return that he can’t fathom how life had been before Alex, and something about a selfie of Alex in his glasses is just so personal and intimate that Henry can’t stand it.

The thing is, Henry is not an idiot – at least not enough of one to think that Alex Claremont-Diaz could ever possibly love him back.

He’ll be fine. Alex will get sick of him eventually. Then their friendship – flirty texts and all – will die, and Henry can move on and play the part he was born to.

It’s just a matter of time, after all.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t fully intend on enjoying this while it lasts.

So he texts Alex back, he teases him, he sends him selfies back – but he’s careful not to cross any lines.

And it’s lovely. It is well and truly lovely, and sometimes Henry can almost let himself forget that he’s a prince of some blasted colonial empire. Almost.

One day, Henry nearly drops his phone on the way to a meeting with Phillip about royal finances (as if there’s anything more boring to be doing so early in the morning). Bea looks over.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine!” Henry says, and oh, god, his voice comes out mangled and hoarse.

Bea raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite sure?”

“Absolutely,” Henry says. He glances down at his phone screen again.

It’s half past eight in the morning, which means it must be half past three in Washington, but Alex is, from the looks of it, wide awake.

Which is fine. It’s fine. 

Except.

Except the selfie he’s just sent Henry (who is very, very gay, and deeply, utterly in love with Alex Claremont-Diaz) is clearly one from his bed.

Alex is wearing his glasses and a t-shirt that looks soft to the touch. His hair is a beautiful, curly mess. He’s buried in papers and books, and has several half empty mugs of what look like coffee on his bedside table.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** prayer circle bc midterms are going to fucking kill me   
  


_ Alex _ is going to fucking kill  _ Henry. _

“Oh,” Bea says, and from her tone, Henry already knows she knows it’s Alex. “It’s three-thirty in the morning over there, isn’t it?”

“I– yes, I think so,” Henry says.

“He seems to sleep as well as you do.”

“He, er, says he’s revising for his midterms.”

“I see how texting you fits into that,” Bea says. She meets his gaze and places a gentle hand on his knee. “You do know that I’m genuinely happy that the two of you have gotten past – whatever that rubbish you had going on before was, don’t you?”

“I do,” Henry says. “Thanks, Bea.” Then he locks his phone and slips it into his pocket. He can’t think about Alex Claremont-Diaz looking soft and warm and vulnerable in his bed when he’s about to go into a meeting with his brother, of all people.

* * *

The bedroom selfies keep coming. Henry can’t bring himself to reply to them – what do you even say when the person you are completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with, with whom you sometimes flirt via text, sends you pictures of himself quite literally in his bed?

Is it meant to be a signal? After all, it’s no secret that Alex has had some sordid rumours circulating about him before (though, admittedly, always with women). Or does Alex treat all of his friends this way? 

Henry doesn’t know how to take it, and after half a dozen of these bedroom selfies, Henry eventually is faced with no choice but to tell Bea.

He would tell Pez, but, well, as much as he loves Pez, he knows Bea is much more level-headed and reasonable about these sorts of things. 

Bea’s reaction isn’t quite what Henry expects. She doesn’t say anything about how he needs to  _ talk _ to Alex about all of this. 

No, her first reaction is to ask, “Why don’t you respond?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Respond to his selfies from bed?” As if she wasn’t clear enough.

“Even if I wanted to – by the time he sends them, it’s usually a reasonable hour here.”

“Then send him a selfie when you’re in bed. Level the playing field, so to speak.”

“I’m not even certain he means it in that way,” Henry says. 

“It’s not as if I’m suggesting you send him a dick pic,” Bea says. “I hardly think that would be conducive to international relations.”

“Very funny, Bea,” Henry says.

“Honestly, would responding to him be the worst thing in the world?” Bea asks. “Aren’t you meant to be friends?”

“What do you even say to the person you’re in love with sending you selfies of him in bed in his glasses?”

Bea shrugs. “Perhaps just a selfie of whatever you’re doing at the moment? I think he’d appreciate the spontaneity.”

Bea has a point, really, but Henry can’t imagine he’ll be able to seem like a normal human person in response to one of Alex’s bed selfies.

* * *

He’s on a morning run when Alex’s next bed selfie comes in. He gets an alert on his watch, and makes a conscious decision to wait until he gets home.

He nearly chokes on his protein shake.

Alex is reclining in bed, wearing a t-shirt that is far too tight to be halfway fair, glasses off, hair tousled, with what appears to be a whole slice of pizza shoved into his mouth.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** paint me like one of your french girls   
  


How in the world is Henry meant to reply to that?

(The very worst part is that Henry is almost entirely certain that selfies of people  _ eating _ are not meant to be so unfairly attractive.)

* * *

Alex is absolutely infuriating. He harangues Henry about his tie in an Instagram photo, and perhaps the First Son of the United States of America is allowed to wear what he likes whenever he likes, but Henry decidedly does not have that pleasure. 

He texts him constantly, never missing an opportunity to insult him (and Henry actually  _ likes _ it).

What absolutely takes the cake, though, is Alex sending him a five kilogram parcel of button badges with Alex’s face on them. They are, upon closer inspection, campaign buttons for Ellen Claremont, though Henry can’t imagine they’re really quite  _ official. _ (But then perhaps they are – Alex seems to be loved by the American people).

He intends on having a stern talk with Alex about the dangers of sending hand-labelled packages directly to the residence of the Prince of Wales (Shaan wanted to send in sniffer dogs, and Henry wonders for half a second if it would have been so bad if the parcel had been detonated in a controlled environment – though surely it would be, and the only potential positive spin he can think that might have resulted in is Alex perhaps thinking before acting next time, which he knows in his heart is never going to happen).

He knows Alex will find the whole ordeal hilarious.

He doesn’t know what Alex expects him to do with five kilograms of buttons with his face on them. It’s hardly as if he can  _ wear _ them. (Actually, he’s fairly certain that’s exactly what Alex intends).

He waits until he knows Alex is out of class before texting him.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Henry:** I’ve just received a 5-kilo parcel of Ellen Claremont campaign buttons with your face on them. Is this your idea of a prank?  
  
**Alex:** just trying to brighten up that wardrobe, sunshine   
  
**Henry:** I hope this gross miscarriage of campaign funds is worth it to you. My security thought it was a bomb. Shaan almost called in the sniffer dogs.  
  
**Alex:** oh, definitely worth it. even more worth it now. tell shaan i say hi and i miss that sweet sweet ass xoxoxo   
  
**Henry:** I will not.  
  


“You’ve got your texting Alex face on,” Pez says.

Henry looks up. He didn’t even notice Pez come in. “Sorry. Hello.”

“Oh, don’t apologise, babes,” Pez says. “He’s hot, you’re hot, you’re desperately in love like this is some gay version of  _ Love, Actually.  _ Text him all you want. Win him over. And then introduce me to his  _ gorgeous _ sister, and we can be in-laws.”

“Which part of  _ Love, Actually _ is applicable to this situation?” Henry asks, rather than addressing the rest of Pez’s statement. As if anything will actually come of him and Alex.

“All of it,” Pez says. “All the drama and politics and young Kiera Knightley.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Yes, how could I possibly forget young Kiera Knightley?”

“I thought she was the most gorgeous creature on the earth… and then I saw June Claremont-Diaz.”

“You’re impossible,” Henry says. He grabs one of the button badges and tosses it to Pez. “Her brother sent me a five kilo parcel of these.”

“None of them have got June’s face on them?” Pez asks. 

“Not that I’ve seen, but feel free to look. Perhaps he’s included one. I’m certain they’re not giving these out to donors.”

“That’s a pity,” Pez says, already digging through the box. “He’s nearly as gorgeous as his sister is.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Henry says. “His ego’s already enormous.”

“I’m only stating facts, Hazza,” Pez says. He pins one of the badges to his (obnoxiously orange) waistcoat. 

“Did you actually find one of June?” Henry asks.

“Nah,” Pez says. “But what else are you going to do with them?”

* * *

Nearly two weeks after Henry receives the buttons, he receives a text from Alex.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** did you know every year the american taxpayers pay to have two turkeys stay in a five-star hotel so the president can pardon one of them on national television  
  
**Henry:** You can’t honestly believe that I’m gullible enough to simply take your word for that.  
  
**Alex:**[https://www.whitehouse.gov/blog/2019/11/23/definitive-history-presidential-turkey-pardon](https://www.whitehouse.gov/blog/2011/11/23/definitive-history-presidential-turkey-pardon)  
  
**Alex:** why the fuck would i make something like that up?  
  
**Alex:** it’s gross government waste!  
  
**Alex:** do you have any idea how much one of those rooms costs?  
  
**Henry:** No, but I’m certain you’ll tell me.  
  
**Alex:** like $200-$3500 a night  
  
**Alex:** and that’s not including set up or cleaning or transportation or anything like that  
  
**Alex:** for TURKEYS!  
  


Henry feels a rush of affection for Alex. Yes, he’s impulsive and annoying (and Henry doesn’t find that as off-putting as he ought to) but he cares  _ so much. _ Very few people he deals with day to day care half as much as Alex does. Henry quite thinks the world would be a much better place if everyone cared as much as Alex.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** i’m gonna talk to my mom about it  
  
**Alex:** this is ridiculous  
  
**Henry:** Best of luck.  
  
**Alex:** thnx!   
  


* * *

Alex texts him back not an hour later

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** turkey problem solved!  
  
**Henry:** Oh?  
  
**Alex:** they’re going to stay in my room  
  
**Alex:** at no additional cost to the taxpayer  
  
**Henry:** Are you quite sure you’ve thought this through?  
  
**Alex:** lol they’re turkeys  
  
**Alex:** i saved the taxpayers like a thousand bucks  
  
**Alex:** what could possibly go wrong?  
  
**Henry:** Famous last words.  
  
**Alex:** fuck you  
  


* * *

Henry has just settled back into bed, face mask on (as he needs to look his best for his appearance tomorrow, else he’ll never hear the end of it), and he’s just hit “play” on the next episode of  _ Great British Bake Off _ when he gets another text from Alex.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** THEY KNOW  
  
**Alex:** THEY KNOW I HAVE ROBBED THEM OF FIVE-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS TO SIT IN A CAGE IN MY ROOM, AND THE MINUTE I TURN MY BACK THEY ARE GOING TO FEAST ON MY FLESH  
  


Henry has to read the text message twice. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Alex is dramatic and impulsive and ridiculous (and, really, Henry loves it).

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Henry:** Please send photos.  
  


Alex obliges by sending him a photo of a perfectly normal-looking turkey sitting in a cage. Well, what Henry assumes is a normal-looking American turkey – the few turkeys he’s seen in real life haven’t been so large. It’s sort of cute, in a way, and it’s hilarious that Alex is so terrified of a harmless bird in a cage. 

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Henry:** I think he’s cute.  
  
**Alex:** that’s because you can’t hear all the menacing gobbling  
  


Henry actually laughs out loud. How in the world is Alex threatened by these creatures?

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Henry:** Yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble.  
  


He is not prepared, at three in the morning, to receive a phone call from Alex Claremont-Diaz, but when he does, of course he hits “accept”.

They’ve never spoken over the phone, and the first words Alex says to him are,  “You know what, you little shit, you can hear it for yourself, and then tell me how you would handle this—”

He cannot quite believe that Alex is actually calling him.  “Alex? Have you really rung me at three o’clock in the morning to make me listen to a turkey?”

“Yes, obviously,” Alex says, as if such a thing is really _obvious._ “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your _soul._ Cornbread knows my sins, Henry. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”

Henry sits up straighter, pauses _Bake Off,_ and reaches for a packet of jaffa cakes. This certainly wasn’t how he’d imagined the night going, but he’s not about to complain. He lets Alex distract him with the turkeys and talk about animals and jaffa cakes and cooking shows, and in the end, Alex agrees to go across the hall and sleep in June’s room.

Henry has just come back to bed after washing off his face mask and try to sleep when he gets a text from Alex.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Alex:** i sent pics of turkeys so i deserve pics of your animals too  
  


Oh.

Bea’s suggestion comes flooding back to him. He still can’t bring himself to reply to Alex’s selfies from bed, but maybe he’s finally found an excuse to send one of his own.

He doesn’t let himself think too much on it before taking a selfie (well, several, really) with David and Mr. Wobbles and sending the best one to Alex.

**Messages with** Alex  
  
**Henry:** This is what I must endure.  
  
**Henry:** Good night, honestly.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This could have gone much longer, but I liked the ending where it's at.


End file.
